|Work (or, the Three of Hedgehogs)
||[Sep. 9th, 2009|08:55 am]
|||||Bear McCreary - Passacaglia / The Shape of Things to Come||]|
No more white, as it's past labor day (labora), and though my personal fall doesn't start for about another moon I can see, taste, feel the shift in mood and melody. How fortunate, in this season, to know a full set of Moirae. Three Libras, no less.
Thus begins the long descent. Equinox, Equilux, and we always love living on the boundary. (to her! definest!) (ora) High contrast, and the story comes into focus again. Produced a lot of fruit this season (year of the ox, don't you know); now it's time to see if it's as nourishing in the long haul as I think and hope it is. Swords and scales out, let's get efficient up in here, like Oregon Trail and Tetris. Keep the useful bits (like coffee, cloves and conversation, and ponder them in your heart)...die off for the rest. Prune thyself! It's less cruel in the long run, promise.
Switch channels; trinary wavelength. 3/4 time. Synthesis. A different meter, a different harmony; ai can mean both harmony and love. (Is that what I mean?) Upon reflection. To test truth with echo. Sounding out, using language to probe the depths. Oh, I've a lingam (ra), a lingua (ah!) that'll plumb your depths, alright. Does it resonate? Will it blend?
Oh, horrible wordplay. It mist be autumn again. Season of musts and fellow mootfulness.
The answer is left as an exercise to the reader. But no one should brave the underworld alone.